incorrectmalevolent

[incorrectmalevolent]

A theater in a city full of corpses. A familiar tune lilts through the air as Arthur approaches the stage at its center, footsteps intermingling with the sound of John's voice as he describes the scene. As Arthur draws closer, the music grows louder. Arthur, disregarding John's warning, calls out to the man playing the piano. When he does, the music stops.

Arthur: Who are you?

There's the creaking of the piano bench as the man who had been playing- Kayne- shifts, taking a deep breath as he does. His tone is unsettlingly casual.

Kayne: Catchy, isn't it?

Arthur: What?

Kayne: It's a catchy song. Shame it's not one of yours. I mean, can you imagine how well-off that guy must be? Money, fame- God, what I wouldn't give to be in his shoes.

Arthur: I-

Kayne: Hell, you thought that his little tune was good enough to put in your daughter's music box, and you wrote her her own song! Y'know I've been wondering about that, actually- why you didn't just put Faroe's Song in Faroe's music box? I don't think it would've been too on the nose, even if you-

There's an edge to Arthur's voice as he interrupts.

Arthur: Who are you? How do you- How do you know about my daughter?

Kayne chuckles.

Kayne: Arthur, my love, I know many things. Many things about you, to be precise! But you know, I think one of my favorites is how dedicated you are to the piano, tragedy aside- I've never been that good myself, really, so watching you play was a real treat.

Arthur: Watching me?

Kayne: Yes, watching you! I've seen everything, Artie my boy, and the highlight so far has been you two kids in that music store. I think that's the most in synch you've ever been! The way John relied on your muscle memory and followed your lead to know which keys to press with that left hand he's got- it is awfully lucky that he took your left instead of your right. You'd already lost your eyes, losing your dominant hand would've just been salt in the wound, huh?

There's a break in Kayne's rambling, as if he's actually waiting for an answer. Arthur, more baffled now than he had been to start, presents one.

Arthur: ...I'm-? It wouldn't have mattered either way. I'm ambidextrous.

Kayne seems to think for a moment, then gasps.

Kayne: Oh!

There's an excited sort of brightness to his voice, now, coupled with a supportive tone.

Kayne: That's fantastic, Arthur- love who you love!

[incorrectmalevolent]

Things you said 21. (On top of the world) but make it another titanic reference

okay we're jumpin right off THIS post:

Arthur felt his heart and stomach drop simultaneously, a sick feeling welling up in him as he hugged both arms tighter around himself.

"I- why would you say that?" He snapped, though he sounded more pitiful and frightened than angry. "Why the fuck would you say that? I- I can't do this, John, we-"

"Arthur-" John started, but barely managed to form anymore words underneath Arthur's fresh panic.

"We need to leave, we need to-"

"Arthur," John persisted, just commanding enough to be heard.

Arthur stopped, pushing out a shaky breath as he tried to rein himself back in. It didn't help at all.

"Arthur," John repeated one last time, a gentler tone back in his voice, "just breathe. Please," he urged. "You're spiraling."

"I- I-"

"In, slowly," John interrupted. Arthur obliged to the best of his abilities. "Good. Now out. There... Again." He gave Arthur's right elbow a light squeeze before returning their left hand to Arthur's chest, feeling for his heart. John once more found himself wondering when he'd picked up that habit- resting over Arthur's pulse whenever he knew he was upset.

There was a tinge of guilt to John's tone when he next spoke. "I didn't mean to alarm you; I should have thought a little more before I'd said that. It slipped my mind that you wouldn't understand the reference I was making."

"I-..." Arthur began, sounding a bit steadier despite how his thoughts were still somewhat scattered. "I don't understand why you'd reference something like that anyway. Especially when we'd just talked about what I'm afraid of."

John huffed out a sigh in spite of himself. "I know. I'm sorry. But there's-... Do you remember what I said? One of the first things I'd said about the Dark World, how it doesn't abide by the laws of time in the way this world does?"

"Mh..." Arthur thought for a brief moment. "Yes, but-"

"There's a film. Released in nineteen nintey-seven. It's a romanticized iteration of the events by the same name: The Titanic."

"'Ninety-seven...'" Arthur muttered, baffled. "'Romanticized?' Why the fuck would they romanticize that? It was a tragedy!"

"I don't know, Arthur," John breathed, loosely closing his hand over the front of Arthur's shirt. "People like to look for love in tragedy. I suppose it comforts them."

"That's-" Arthur started, then stopped himself. He brought his right hand down with a sigh. "...Yeah. I suppose you're right."

"...You suppose a lot of things, Arthur," John tested.

Arthur huffed out a soft laugh at the dig, sounding calmer now. "You did it first, this time." After a moment of hesitation, he stepped back to where he knew the railing at the edge of the deck was, and leaned against it, facing out to sea. "...What was it about that moment in particular?" He wondered, a gentle curiosity in his voice.

"Hm?"

"When you referenced the film. I'm assuming it was something specific."

"...Oh. Yes. Well, there are two main protagonists who... become involved-"

"'Involved?'" Arthur asked, feigning naïveté.

"You know what I mean, Arthur," John snapped, though there wasn't any real bite to his voice.

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle in response. "Then say it."

John hesitated for a moment. "...They're in love." He tried not to notice the way Arthur hummed when he said that. "There's a man, Jack, and a woman, Rose. Jack is poor, and the only reason he's on the ship is because he won tickets for the voyage in a game of poker. Rose is wealthy, and engaged to a man who doesn't understand her or even make the effort to. Jack and Rose meet and they..."

"They fall in love." Arthur shifted so that their left elbow was propped up on the deck rail. John moved their hand so that Arthur could rest his chin on it.

"Yes. At first sight, almost. There's a... a chemistry between them. They're drawn to each other. But because it's not proper, they sneak around for the most part, so that nobody on the ship who would ruin their love affair catches wind of things. And there's a scene, where Jack takes Rose to the bow of the ship at sunset, when nobody else is around. He wraps his arms around her waist, and then they look into each other's eyes, and..." John trailed off.

"'And?'"

"...They kiss."

"Oh," Arthur responded plainly.

"...Yes."

There was a moment of quiet between the two of them, with John suddenly feeling timid and Arthur wondering how to proceed.

Ultimately, John broke the silence. "It's... not to be confused with an earlier scene, in which Jack stands behind his friend in the same spot and shouts, 'I'm king of the world.'"

Arthur snorts.

"What?"

"Nothing, I-... My first thought was, 'is that not how I make you feel?' but that's- stupid," Arthur laughed at himself.

John paused. "It is."

"You... didn't have to agree with me, John, I already acknowledged-"

"No," John insisted with a soft sort of urgency, "that-... That is how you make me feel." The confidence in his voice sent a chill running down Arthur's spine. John tried not to notice how he could feel the heat that had crept into Arthur's face.

"I-..." Arthur began, but trailed off about as soon as he'd started, finding himself at a loss for words. He pushed out a sigh, then shifted his head, and pressed a soft kiss to to the palm of his partner's hand.

[incorrectmalevolent]

send me a ship and one of these and i'll write a mini fic

things you said at 1 am

things you said through your teeth

things you said too quietly

things you said over the phone

things you didn’t say at all

things you said under the stars and in the grass

things you said while we were driving

things you said when you were crying

things you said when i was crying

things you said that made me feel like shit

things you said when you were drunk

things you said when you thought i was asleep

things you said at the kitchen table

things you said after you kissed me

things you said with too many miles between us

things you said with no space between us

things you said that i wish you hadnt

things you said when you were scared

things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

things you said when we were on top of the world

things you said after it was over

things you said [make your own]

inspired by this

[incorrectmalevolent]

A small amphitheater in the middle of a city. Arthur's footsteps sound on the stone floor as he moves further in. Meloncholy piano music drifts through the air as a man- Kayne- plays from the stage. John describes the scene to Arthur, then the situation as Kayne approaches them.

Kayne: God, you just tell him everything, don't you? Well I guess that makes sense, you are his eyes, after all- and his left hand arm-- man.

John pauses briefly, caught off guard by the statement.

John: ...His right hand man?

Kayne scoffs.

Kayne: No, dummy- you're his left, aren't you? Or did you forget? I don't know how you could; all you've got besides his eyes are an arm and a leg- and that's about what it cost you two to get to this point, right? Haha!

Arthur: What-?

Kayne gasps, as if remembering something.

Kayne: Oh, and Arthur! He tells you more than just what's going on around you, right? You two talk? You have little heartfelt chats? You share feelings? He does have those now, right?

John bristles.

John: Just who the fuck-

Kayne sounds unimpressed- mocking, as if he's dealing with a defiant child.

Kayne: Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, John- or whatever it is you want to be called now- it's fine. I know you.

John: You don't fucking know me.

There's a shift in Kayne's tone. An overwhelming certainty seeps through his words as he continues to antagonize John.

Kayne: I don't know you? Of course I know you! And you know, I find it rude that you're underestimating me. I know you. I know you. You're Arthur Lester's everything, aren't you?

John hesitates.

John: ...What?

Arthur: I-

Kayne chuckles, thouroughly enjoying himself. There's more excitement to his voice as he goes on.

Kayne: You're his confidante, John! His best friend, his silly rabbit!

Arthur: M-my what?

Kayne: Your silly rabbit, Arthur!

John: His "silly rabbit?"

Kayne nearly shouts, the enthusiasm in his voice reaching a climax.

Kayne: YES! Is that what he calls you?

Arthur: No!

All anticipation is gone from Kayne's tone, replaced with disappointment.

Kayne: ...Oh.

He huffs.

Kayne: Well. Maybe you should start.

[incorrectmalevolent]

An unknown location. Arthur sits, indoors. The only sounds are the wind howling outside, the occasional creak of the walls, and Arthur's ragged, exhausted breathing. He pushes out a sigh, like he may start crying. Out of nowhere, a rush of air. Then, a familiar voice.

Kayne: Arthur! Artie my boy, good friend, old pal- oh.

Kayne's tone changes. He now sounds worried- but mockingly so.

Kayne: Oh, Arthur, what ever has befallen you? Well‐ I don't think I've ever seen anyone look as down in the dumps as you do right now!

Arthur doesn't respond.

Kayne: Aw c'mon, champ, don't give me the cold shoulder- I want to help you! I am a fan of yours, as you well know. But, as much as I want to, I can't help unless you tell me what's wrong!

Arthur's voice is tense.

Arthur: You know what's wrong.

Kayne chuckles.

Kayne: Okay, maybe I do. But- hey! Here's an idea! How about I cheer you up? Can't be sad when you're smiling and all that, right? Hmm, now which one haven't you heard... Not that one, no, that one's too predictable... OH! Hey, Artie Boy, what do you call a fish with no eyes?

Arthur inhales, then lets out an exasperated sigh.

Arthur: ...I don't know. What?

Kayne: A fsh! Get it? A fish with no Is? A fsh! Aha! Hahaha!

Kayne continues to laugh, bordering on maniacal. Arthur, who hadn't responded to the joke, speaks up flatly.

Arthur: I don't think that's very funny.

[incorrectmalevolent]

A kitchen. A radio plays in the next room, sending light music through the small apartment. Arthur sings along, just slightly off key now and then, as he tends to a simmering pan on the stove.

Arthur: Remember, I need you to tell me when it starts to look done.

John: I know, Arthur. I haven't forgotten. Just like I haven't forgotten the last hundred times we've done this.

Arthur: Has it been that many?

John: Well, I haven't actually been counting. But I'd say it's close, if we haven't passed it already.

Arthur: So, enough times that I should just be trusting you now.

John: I'd say so.

Arthur hums. There's the sound of a spatula pushing around the contents of the pan. After a moment, he speaks up again.

Arthur: ...I do trust you, you know.

John: I know, Arthur.

The two go comfortably quiet as Arthur continues to cook, music still drifting through the air. John speaks up calmly.

John: It's about ready. You should probably add in the sauce, now. The jar is right next to the stove, on your right.

Arthur: Where we left it.

John: ...Yes. I suppose you knew that already.

Arthur chuckles, then grabs the glass jar off the countertop, and attempts to twist it open- left hand holding the jar while his right works the lid. Unsuccessful, he tries again, then huffs in annoyance.

Arthur: Alright, your turn. You usually have better luck at this than I do, somehow. Here.

Arthur carefully shifts hands- now holding the jar with his right and the lid with his left.

John: You'd probably be able to get it if you left it on the counter instead of picking it up. I don't know why you always do that.

Arthur: Oh- Just open the jar, John.

John chuckles as he guides Arthur to set the jar back down on the countertop, then makes the effort to twist the lid off... before trying again. And again.

John: Fuck-

Arthur: You can't get it, can you?

John: Shut up, I have it.

John makes a few more attempts, then frustratedly lets go of the jar. Arthur waits.

John: ...Okay. No, I can't open the fucking jar.

[incorrectmalevolent]

A bed, in a cozy apartment, on a quiet night. Arthur and John talk about nothing in particular- the day's affairs, the weather, their plans for tomorrow. Arthur's voice gets progressively more drowsy as the conversation draws on, but there's a happiness to his tone. John's is almost amused as he listens to Arthur get sleepier by the minute.

John: You sound like you're about to knock out.

Arthur: No, I-... I'm wide awake, thank you very much.

John laughs softly.

John: Oh, are you? Arthur, you've been struggling to form coherent sentences for the past five minutes.

Arthur huffs. Fabric rustles softly as he shifts to bury his face in his pillow. His voice is muffled.

Arthur: Well maybe you should stop talking, then. Stop asking me so many questions.

John: Arthur, you were the one asking most of the questions. You always are.

Arthur: Oh, fuck off.

John snorts. Arthur can't help but chuckle in response.

John: Fine. I'll stop talking. Goodnight, Arthur.

Arthur: Goodnight, John...

Moments pass. The only sound is Arthur's breathing, soft and relaxed as he lets himself give into sleep.

John: ...Arthur.

Arthur groans.

Arthur: John, I was just about to fall asleep.

John: I know- I'm sorry. I just thought of something I need to ask you.

Arthur: Mh... What is it...?

John: Well...

John pauses.

John: Arthur, if there were two men on the moon, and one of the men killed the other with a rock- would that be fucked up, or what?

Arthur: Oh- Fuck, John, I am not doing this again.

[incorrectmalevolent]

A conversation. The middle of a small theatre, in the middle of a destroyed city. Kayne speaks to Arthur- recounting Arthur's life and his (and his better half's) current predicament. Then, the dagger. The instructions. "Two heads, and all that."

Arthur: How-... How do I know you're not just fucking with us? That you're not just sending us off down some doomed path so you can watch us suffer for your own enjoyment? We take this dagger, and then what? We have to-

Kayne: Artie, Artie, Artie, let's not get ahead of ourselves! You know, an attitude like that will only make it more difficult for you to keep that pretty level head of yours. As in: level-headed, but also pretty- although you could use a wash and a shave, couldn't you? Not that I mind, though, I like the rugged, rough-around-the-edges look on-

Arthur: Just answer the question.

Kayne: Okay, first of all, Arthur, it's rude to interrupt. Second, have you even considered how much it hurts me to know that you don't trust me? I told you I wanted to help! But fine. If you really need to know I'm telling the truth that bad- ask me another question. Anything! Go on- I promise I won't lie.

John: Arthur, be careful. Make sure it's one he can't-

Kayne: Uh-uh, Johnny Boy, I told your sweetheart to ask me. It's not very fair if you don't let him make up his own mind, now is it, hm?

John grumbles, but backs down. Arthur thinks, trying to find a simple yes or no question that can't backfire. Then, he asks.

Arthur: ...Are you homophobic?

Kayne laughs, sounding a little too amused by the question.

Kayne: Arthur, my dear, I'm gay.

John: Fuck- Arthur, he's dodging the question!

[incorrectmalevolent]

A peaceful night. Arthur sits in a chair on a balcony. Occasionally, a cool breeze blows, and people can be heard on the streets below. Walking, laughter, cars. Arthur hums a soft tune. After a moment, he stops, letting out a contented sigh.

John: [Timidly] ...Arthur?

Arthur: Yes, John?

John: I-... Well, there are some things I think I should say.

Arthur: Oh? [Jokingly] I'm not in trouble, am I?

John: No, no. I... I just need to tell you how I'm feeling.

Arthur: Mh. I'll take that as my cue to stop teasing, then.

John: Good. Thank you. Because there are a few things I need to make sure you understand, Arthur.

Arthur: Hm?

John pauses as if to collect himself. Arthur waits for him to continue.

John: Well... I'm never going to give you up, Arthur. And after all we've been through, I don't think I could ever live with myself if I let you down. Out of- everything, Arthur, you are the most important to me. I could never- I will never desert you.

Arthur shifts some in his chair. John takes in a breath.

John: Saying goodbye is something I never want to do again. After-... After all the times I've lost you, Arthur, I can't do it anymore. And if I've ever made you cry, and-... for all the lies I've told you in the past, I need you to know I'm sorry. I- I need you to know that I'm going to do my damndest to make sure nothing ever hurts you again.

John waits expectantly for a response.

Arthur: [Impressed] ...Well. I don't think anyone's ever confessed to me like that before. That was-... Those were all your own words, yes?

John freezes.

John: ...Yes.

[incorrectmalevolent]

A bedroom. Arthur lay on his back in bed, happily tucked in under the blankets. The only sound is his soft, even breathing as he drifts off to sleep. Peacefully. Then, the slight, almost timid rustling of fabric as his left hand shifts, sliding underneath his shirt and over his bare stomach. John tentatively- guiltily- traces over the scars he knows are there. Ashamed. Arthur groans softly, stirs.

Arthur: John...

John, somehow, doesn't notice. Arthur gently moves his hand over John's and grips it lightly.

Arthur: ...You're doing it again.

John: I'm-... I thought you were asleep.

Arthur: I almost was. You woke me up.

Arthur yawns, brings his right hand back down to the mattress. John gives a frustrated sigh, brushing over Arthur's skin.

John: I just-... I wish I could have protected you better.

Arthur: John, I'm-

John: I know. I know you're alright. We're alright. It's been a long time since it ended and we're safe now. I know. I tell us that all the time.

John pauses. Arthur shifts under the covers, letting John take a moment.

John: ...But I still wish there was more I could have done. To keep you from getting hurt, to-... to keep you safe. Just- I know how badly your leg bothers you sometimes, Arthur. And your shoulder. Just because I can't feel them doesn't mean I don't notice the way you're having me help you carry things more and more often, or how you start to ache after we walk for too long. I can see all your scars when we look in the mirror. On your face, and your chest, your stomach, your-...

He sounds helpless.

John: Arthur, there are so many.

Arthur shudders, silently cursing himself for not speaking up sooner.

Arthur: John, I-

John: No, Arthur-

Arthur: John. John, listen to me. Please. I-... I was never going to get out unscathed. You know that. I know you know that.

John: But I could have-

Arthur: John. Please.

John stops. He tries to calm his upset breathing. Any trace of sleep is now gone from Arthur's voice. He takes their left hand in his right.

Arthur: I've been hurt. We've been hurt. And-... well in some ways, I don't think we'll ever fully recover. I may need to get us a cane to walk with. I-... These scars aren't going to go away. But John, I need you to remember this. You kept me alive.

John's breath hitches. Arthur continues.

Arthur: Every step of the way, even when we were at each other's throats, John, you- you've saved me. At any point, you could have given me up- truly given me up. But you didn't. You never do. You may not have been able to keep me out of harm's way, and you may not be able to stop the way I ache, or the nightmares I still have, but that doesn't mean you failed me. I-... John, I couldn't have made it without you. I need you to know that.

Their left hand moves to cup Arthur's cheek. Fabric rustles softly as Arthur shifts against his pillow, turning his head to kiss John's palm.

Arthur: You and I are... are bound. Remember?

John pauses. His voice is calm now. Certain.

John: ...I do.

[incorrectmalevolent]

A home. The sound of wood burning in a fireplace. Arthur sits, peacefully, on a sofa. There's a book in his right hand. Occasionally, his left flips the pages. He smiles softly as John reads aloud, thankful for the tranquil moment. This continues for a short while, with Arthur making comments on the story now and then, until John stops at the end of a page.

John: Well... I imagine it's getting late. Do you think that's a good place to stop for the night?

Arthur: If you do.

John: Well. In that case, I do. And I think we should start getting ready for bed, Arthur.

Arthur chuckles.

Arthur: "We"?

John: You may be the only one sleeping, but I'm still going to bed with you.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur: Alright, fair point. We'll stop there, then.

Arthur gently sets the hardcover book down on a wooden end table. There's the rustling of fabric as he gets up off the couch, then his footsteps padding over a rug on the wood floor as he moves toward the fireplace.

John: It'll be out in an hour or two. I'd say leave it burning- you do sleep easier when it's warm.

Arthur: Oh, you've noticed?

John: Of course I have.

Arthur hums happily, moving out of the living room and to the bedroom, stepping lightly on the floor. He crosses to the chest of drawers opposite the bed, stops. Fabric rustles again as he removes his clothes and changes into pajamas. While he does this, John speaks.

John: ...Do you think we could get married in a church, Arthur?

Arthur pauses briefly, then continues changing. His voice is light.

Arthur: I'd assumed by the amount of times you say "Jesus Christ," that you weren't religious.

John: Well. I suppose I am when I need to be.

Arthur: And when is that?

John: When I'm out of options. Same as everyone else.

Arthur laughs softly.

Arthur: ...We'll see, John. We'll see.

[incorrectmalevolent]

The beach. The sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore. Laughter can be heard in the distance. Arthur's bare footsteps can just barely be heard in the soft sand as he walks outside the water's reach.

John: ...Arthur?

Arthur: Hm?

John: Why is your head down?

Arthur: Oh. Is it?

Arthur seems distracted. Absent, even. He picks his head up, holding it straight now.

Arthur: There. Can you see now?

John: Well, yes, but... You didn't answer my question.

Arthur: Question?

John: Yes, Arthur. Why did you have your head down?

Arthur: Mh...

Arthur's footsteps continue, but the dialogue pauses. John speaks up gently.

John: Are you still afraid someone's going to recognize us? It's been... months, Arthur. And we're halfway down the coast.

Arthur: No, it's-... It's not that. You said this place felt safe to you and I trust that.

John: ...Right.

John, while concerned, stops, having made the decision not to pry. He reaches up, crossing his arm over Arthur's chest and settling his hand over Arthur's heart. Arthur sighs.

Arthur: ...Shells.

John: Hm?

Arthur: When-... When I was a boy, and I would come to the beach with my parents, I'd spend more time looking for seashells than I would anything else. My mother would help me, sometimes- to find the prettiest ones. But there were other times I just looked for shells I thought were interesting, or... had character, or-... And I would collect them.

Arthur pauses. John waits patiently for him to continue.

Arthur: And when Faroe came along, I would... At first, I just carried her while I walked along the shore. But I'd still look for shells- and every time, I would make sure I took at least one home with us. And then... when she could walk, I'd hold her little hand. And I taught her how to look for them, how-... how they come in different colors and shapes, all the different animals they came from, and-. How sometimes the best ones are half-buried in the sand, and you need to do a little digging to get them out.

Arthur sniffles, stops walking. He looks out to sea.

Arthur: I... I buried her with some. Some of the shells we'd found together.

Arthur's left hand moves to wipe at his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, like he hadn't realized he was crying.

Arthur: ...I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to-

John: No. I'm glad you did.

Arthur sighs, attempting to steel himself. The waves continue to break against the shore.

John: ...What you said holds true to us, I think.

Arthur: Hm?

John: "Half-buried in the sand." You know we spent a good deal of time trying to hide from each other.

Arthur: Ah...

John: And we had to do a lot of digging to get out.

Arthur begins to walk again, light footsteps in the sand. There's another moment of pause.

John: ...You still miss her, then?

Arthur: I don't think I could ever stop.

A gull cries overhead.

John: ...To your left.

Arthur: Hm?

John: The shells. You're walking too close to the water for us to see any. Put your head back down. There... Now just keep walking. I'll tell you when to stop.

Arthur's footsteps continue.

John: ...Oh.

Arthur: Stop?

John: Yes. Right here. Crouch down.

Arthur's footsteps stop. He grunts, and his clothes rustle slightly as he crouches. John's hand reaches down to pick up a shell. He brushes it off before holding it still to study.

John: The shell is fully intact- about the size of your palm. On the front, there are ridges, coming down from top to bottom. It's mostly white, with spots of purple grouped in bands across it's width.

Arthur: ...A scallop shell.

John: Yes, I suppose.

Arthur hums. John turns the shell over in his hand.

John: On the back, it has a slight, almost pearlescent sheen that catches the light nicely, and shines if you angle it toward the sun. This side is smooth, compared to the defined ridges on the front, and mostly white, except for a few flecks of purple and gray. Here...

John gently pushes the shell into Arthur's hand, and makes sure Arthur has it before letting go. Arthur's fingers trace the surface of it, feeling for those differences in texture. He smiles wistfully.

John: ...Do you want to hunt for more?

Arthur: Yes. Please...

John: Alright. Let's keep going straight, then. There are more in the sand ahead of us.

There's a bit of effort as Arthur stands up from his crouched position. He begins to walk again, the sand crunching softly underfoot with each step.

Arthur: John?

John: Yes, Arthur?

Arthur: ...Thank you.

[incorrectmalevolent]

An apartment. A door opens, closes. Locks. There's the faint sound of fabric rustling as Arthur removes his coat and hangs it by the door, then stretches. He yawns, groans softly, then finally moves further inside, his shoes tapping lightly on the wood floor with each step.

Arthur: ...Right. Well, then... Do we have any plans for the night?

John: Hm... Good question. Well- I don't know about you, Arthur, but I've got a blind date.

Arthur: I-

Arthur stops walking and takes in a sharp breath, then pushes out an annoyed sigh.

Arthur: John, I swear, if you ever make that joke again, I am breaking up with you.

[incorrectmalevolent]

Quiet. Indoors. There are birds singing outside. Arthur steps, barefoot, across the tile floor, pulls out a chair, and sits down at the table. He sets down a ceramic plate and a teacup, yawning.

John: ...Arthur.

Arthur: Mh... Yes, John?

John: Are you really going to eat that?

Arthur: Am I-

Arthur scoffs.

Arthur: Yes, John. I am.

John: I can't just sit here and watch you eat beans on toast, Arthur. I think it's a sin that I even helped you make it.

Arthur: Oh, so now you're religious?

John: I'm just saying, Arthur, it looks-

Arthur: Well look somewhere else, then. Or I'll close my eyes.

John: ...Fine.

Arthur begins to eat. The birds continue to chirp, a breeze picks up outside the window.

John: Does it... Does it even taste good?

Arthur swallows, stops. He huffs.

Arthur: Do I look like I deserve good things, John?

[incorrectmalevolent]

The sounds of sea waves and ocean wind. Occasional chatter in the background. Arthur stands at the bow of a boat, his breathing shallow. His left arm reaches up, crossing over his chest, palm settling over his heart. Arthur crosses his right arm over it, momentarily squeezing his left shoulder before shifting, hugging his arms around himself instead. His left hand- John's hand- gently grips Arthur's right elbow, while Arthur holds the left elbow with his right hand.

John: ...You're tense. Are you thinking about-

Arthur makes a soft, dismissive sound. He sighs.

Arthur: We haven't exactly had such good luck with boats in the past, have we? I mean- Kellin, and the dreamlands, and... After the island...

John: I know, Arthur.

Arthur: I just-... I know I thought this would be a good idea, to get away after everything, but I'm starting to think that it wasn't.

John: Arthur-

Arthur: And that- that we never should have gotten on board because now we're trapped, John, I-

John: Arthur. Calm down. Breathe.

Arthur stops, takes a deep breath. He lets it out, then takes another.

Arthur: ...I'm sorry.

John: You don't have to be.

There's a brief pause. The sound of waves continues. A child laughs in the near distance. A gull cries in the air.

John: It's a sunny day. There isn't a cloud in the sky, and the water is clear. The waves, while plenty, are gentle, rocking the boat just slightly. You're balancing quite well, by the way.

Arthur huffs lightly. John continues.

John: There are gulls in the air, flying by now and then. Every so often, one perches on the deck nearby- until a child comes to disturb it, or it simply decides to leave. The children are running around happily: laughing, playing with each other. Their parents supervise off to the side, making sure nobody gets into too much trouble.

Arthur sighs wistfully.

John: ...And I'm holding you. We're standing in the sun, at the bow of the boat, and I'm holding you. Isn't that romantic?

Arthur chuckles. His voice is lighter now.

Arthur: I suppose it is.

John: You "suppose"?

Arthur: It is, it is. It's very romantic.

John: I'd say we look just like that scene from the Titanic.

Arthur pauses, freshly tense.

Arthur: The-. The Titanic?

John: Yes, Arthur, the f-

Arthur: You mean the ship that went down?

[incorrectmalevolent]

Somewhere safe. Quiet except for the sound of rain on the roof. A door opens, then shuts. Arthur's bare footsteps cross the wood floor, then stop, followed by the gentle rustling of sheets as he settles into bed. He takes a deep breath, which gives way to a yawn.

Arthur: Goodnight, John.

John: Goodnight, Arthur. Sleep well.

The sound of Arthur shifting slightly, then only the rain again as he falls still. His breathing evens out, slowing bit by bit. Near silence- but peaceful. Moments pass.

John: ...Arthur.

Arthur doesn't respond.

John: Arthur?

Arthur groans softly.

Arthur: Yes, John?

John hesitates. Arthur shifts again, sighing.

Arthur: John-

John: Do you think clouds have feelings?

Arthur pauses, as if considering the question.

Arthur: ...Goodnight, John.

[incorrectmalevolent]

Eerie strings. The sound of Arthur's uneven breathing. He takes a step to steady himself, shoes tapping lightly on the wood floor.

John: Arthur. I've told you.

Arthur: I-... I can't.

John: Yes you can, Arthur.

Arthur's breath hitches sharply.

Arthur: I can't!

John: Arthur, you can; just aim straight and you can't miss them! Do it, Arthur!

Arthur: John, you don't understand, I-

John: Do it!

There's a split-second break in the audio. Then, the clamor of a crowded bowling alley. Pins being knocked over in nearby lanes. Arthur stomps his foot, exasperated.

Arthur: I can't see the fucking pins, John!